Grief that lasts a Lifetime
by romanov16
Summary: "This was my sister's. Her name is Renée. This is her handkerchief... Why do you have it?" The man was staring at her, into her slivery-blue eyes that everyone said she shared with Renée. His mouth said nothing. But his eyes said it all. Her sister was dead- Gisèle Lemaire has been eagerly waiting for her sister Renée to come get her from the Convent...only to get a soldier's pity.
1. An Unparalleled Grief

I own nothing, and have nothing but respect for the men of easy company, and all soldiers like them. This is not meant to cause offence in any way. It is based on the T.V portrayal of these men.

* * *

(oXo)

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, but love leaves a memory no one can steal -From a headstone in Ireland

* * *

Chapter one: An Unparalleled Grief

 _Couvent de la Mère Sainte Vierge - Janvier_ _cinquième_ _, 1945_

 _Chère_ _Renée_ _,_

 _Well sister, it has now been technically a year since you abandoned me to these merciless nuns. I shan't ever forgive you. I swear that these sweet brides of Christ get more and more dour each day. Sister Mary Bernard is the worst -she always looks like she just had to kiss a German's buttocks...and_ Dieu _help the girl she catches wearing lip rouge. Well, thankfully they are not all so bad as that -Sister Bernadette is a forever a darling considering how much she can put up with me, and Sister Marie-Madeleine is also darling in how she always has us sing to forget our worries -_ _they_ _I think, haven't forgotten what it's like, being a young girl._

 _To be full of hope, and full of fear, and also the fear of_ _hoping_ _to much for things that may never be. They haven't forgotten I think, of what it is like to want to fuss over ones hair, and look pretty for a boy -not that there are any about here._

 _(Tell Papa not to worry_ _Renée_ _, I'm not talking about myself you know, only about the older girls, who cry themselves to sleep at night for want of a first kiss -and not because they are vain you see, but because they think they might die without getting one -poor Emilie is especially bad...there's a boy she loves, who she never told, and she doesn't have the slightest idea where he is or what happened to him.) _

_Sister Marie-Madeleine in particular is empathic to them, because she says it is life they want, not sin...is kissing_ _really_ _a sin_ _Renée_ _? The Sisters never really explain it to me whenever I asked them (I may be beginning to annoy them a bit I think -not that this bothers me terrible). All their answers make me terribly confessed._ _I_ _for one don't think it is sin...after all, kissing is a way you tell someone you love them. So I have sympathy for the older girls to. It seems like such a terrible longing they have._

 _And the fact that we can still hear_ _artillery_ _fire sometimes really,_ _really_ _doesn't help_ _Renée. It is downright terrifying and I don't know how the_ _Américains_ _can stand it. When ever it sounds too close for comfort, I run to_ _Léa_ _or Rachelle...I just cant help it. They are the only ones who are never irritated with me, nor see me a as a silly little goat._

 _I think they are simply the bravest girls ever, after you of course, because though they_ _must_ _be afraid -and since they are Jewish, they have more reason than any of us to be afraid should the Germans takeover the Convent- they rarely show it. I guess they figure it wouldn't do any good. Those sisters remind me of a psalm, gentle and strong. It's hard to remember that they are only sixteen. They remind me of you...I miss you Renée, so you better be taking good care of yourself along with your soldiers -so you can come and get me of course._

 _I would never forgive you otherwise, and Maman and Papa would never get over it - if you leave me here that is. Otherwise they would only have Marguerite at home...and you wouldn't be so cruel as that would you?_

 _Yours,_ _Gisèle_

 _P.S. I hope your still wearing that blue handkerchief I gave you for your jour de naissance Renée, It looks simply smashing on you, just like any Hollywood star._

* * *

(oXo)

Closing her nearly-full diary with a satisfied sigh, the small-for-her-age thirteen year old promptly hopped off her ugly bed and padded her way out of the dormitory door; her destination being the convent's alter, and the little loose panel in which she stored her writing book. Now _technically speaking,_ she probably wasn't suppose to be doing that, but what the Sisters didn't know, wouldn't kill them (and more importantly wouldn't make Sister Mary Bernard angry). The little girl shuddered. How that unfeeling, bitter woman could be both a nun _and_ a nurse was beyond her - _she must like seeing people in pain,_ the child reasoned. It was surely the only reason.

As she walked down the unlit hallway, the girl found herself distracted from her task by the large windows that aliened the right-side. Of course they were all cover in blackout sheets, but that didn't stop her little hand from reaching out, pulling one back, and sneaking a peek at the outside world.

The late evening sky was an pessimistic, unhopeful gray, broken only by the occasional streaks of mournful black which seemed to heralded in the coming night, and the battle and blood that undoubtedly would be spilled - heralding it in with joy, just like the Valkyries in the old stories Renée used to read to her, back before the world fell apart...

Shivering at the ghostly image she'd conjured, the girl pushed herself up on her tip-toes and rested her chin on the spine of her diary, hands tucked into the selves of her too large (and ugly) burgundy sweater. Her strawberry braids framed her still child-like face, which had prematurely lost it's infant fat -making her look both a year old _and_ a year younger, depending on whom you asked. Her teeth began chewing her already shredded lips while her slivery-blue eyes grew rounder than a full moon.

Oh yes, Gisèle Lemaire could just _picture_ the ancient host of female warriors siting up there in the towering Ardennes trees, with sharpened swords at their sides and shield on their laps; their beautiful faces -a thousand times more beautiful than Marlene Dietrich, or Ingrid Bergman, or any other Hollywood scarlet (she really shouldn't use that term, the Sisters wouldn't like it). Gisèle imagined them being classily indifferent to the men suffering on both sides of the battle -both Américain and German- as they picked and choose who would live, and who would die.

The girls had been hearing the artillery fire for _days_ now. Days without any foreseeable end. For some, it had nearly driven them to the brink of madness, the idea that they could all be blown up when they were supposed to be safe...

For the past five years, the peaceful little Convent of la Mère Sainte Vierge had been a refuge for those in needed of it, it's wimpled stewardesses taking in and sheltering the poor wenches that had been refused by the rest of the world: from fleeing Belgium soldiers back in 1940, to resistance fighters to Jewish refugees in hiding throughout the Nazi's occupation...which technically specking, Gisèle didn't know about. Chough. Chough.

(-Well it was hardly _Gisèle_ fault that she'd overheard Anna and Marie -or _Léa_ and _Rachelle_ , as it turned out- praying in their Jewish tongue, and put two and two together. Or that when she couldn't sleep one night, and walked around, she'd noticed men sneaking into the Convent, only to sneak out again. Somehow she doubted the nun's were taking gentlemen callers.)

But the most recent group to claim sanctuary here was the a handful of daughters from Bastogne, sent here by insightful parents (and stubborn sisters) who'd realized back in Décembre that a storm was coming, and reaching the point where there would soon be no escape...

* * *

(oXo)

Renée had put Gisèle on the last transport out before the town was besieged, over her little sister's furious protests that she could be a nurse for the soldiers as well -right along side her. She was old enough!

(Looking back, Gisèle could admit that she'd been a little stupid then.)

" _Oh je vois_ ," Renée had told her sarcastically, as she dragged Gisèle out their parents' door -where their poor Papa certainly had his hands full, with trying to comfort both Maman and their oldest, bedridden sister, Marguerite. "You think just because you've have lived three years passed ten, your capable of nursing hordes of dying men, _oui?"_

"O _ui!"_ Gisèle had fiercely declared as she gripped the railing with both her hands, refusing to go. " _Vive le libre Belgique!"_

Her beautiful sister had snorted at that, in a most un-ladylike fashion, her lily-white brow furrowing as her pert nose (her "humble snub") scrunched up her face. " _Vive le_ _yourself_ you little fool," was her dry response as she pried her sister loose, before storming them down the street, Gisèle's unwilling packed bag clenched in her grip. "Our parents needed to know one of us girls is going to live through this."

Renée paused. " _I_ need to know one of us is going to live through this. I...I wouldn't be able to do my work if I don't _."_

By this point, Gisèle had given up on belligerent defiance, and had been reduce to tears. _"Plaire_ Renée, you -you can't just send me away."

 _"_ It is for your own good Gisèle Lemaire," Renée told her stoiticly, her grip on the younger girl's hand tighting with every step...and not only to keep her from escaping. "And you better behave yourself for the Sisters you _petit_ _diablotin_. Or I'll have your hide."

By then they were in sight of the truck that was loading up the last few girls...and had the engine running.

The flame of hope had just come to life inside Gisèle when Renée gasped and took off running, her blond hair streaming behind her as they bolted down the snow covered road -quiet a feet, given that she was in heeled boots. "Wait! _Wait!"_ Renée had cried desperately. " _Plaire_ _attendez un moment! Wait!"_

The truck driver heard her - _everyone_ heard her, Gisèle reflected with embarrassment- and all to soon, Renée and an another man was helping Gisèle up into the back. As she handed Gisèle her bag, she paused before stretching up to kiss the top of her head.

"Now you have your diary in there _chéri,"_ Renée informed her, while she bruised herself with adjusted Gisèle's cap, her coat, her scarf -even her _braids,_ pushing them over the younger girl's shoulders before changing her mind, and pulling them back. "I want you to write a letter to me everyday for as long as your away _d'accord_? Everyday, _me_ _promets-tu_ _?"_

 _"...Je te promets,"_ Gisèle managed to whisper back. In a quieter voice, she added, "- _je t'aime._ "

Renée sucked in her breath at that, and was perfectly still for a moment before she nodded once, sternly, and offered up a wobbly smile. "I know. I know. _Je t'aime trop_ _petit_. Never doubt that."

But now the truck had began to pull away. And soon Renée was just a speck in the distant.

" _Adieu_ _Gisèle, jusqu'à nous rencontrons à nouveau!"_

 _Promise me your wear you handkerchief_ _Renée! Please always wear your handkerchief!_

" _Je vais!..."_

* * *

(oXo)

"... _Gisèle?_ Gisèle, child, is that you?" a voice came from behind her. Jumping slightly, the girl spun around like a child with her hand in the cookie jar. And out of the darkness, Sister Bernadette materialize herself, her blue skirts filtering around her like the ocean waves.

"Gisèle, what are you doing here _trop_ _petit?"_ the good sister asked with concern, placing a mildly wrinkled hand on the her charge's too thin shoulder. "I've been looking everywhere for you. It's time for bed and evening prayers."

Bed? Evening prayers? _Already?_ Gisèle felt herself sag a little. Time could sure fly when you were _not_ having fun.

"Come along _chéri,"_ Sister Bernadette murmured, as she guided Gisèle back down the hallway. Spying the book the girl clutched in her hands, she smiled to herself -these young girls never failed to amuse her. "Would you like me hold on to that for you until morning? I know you don't like to hid it under your pillow like the other girls."

Gisèle hesitated only a moment before handing it over. " _Merci_ Sister. But I beg you, please don't read it."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Sister Bernadette promised her solemnly as she took it. "It will be our secret."

* * *

(oXo)

"Watch, O Lord, with those who wake, or watch, or weep tonight, and give Your Angels and Saints charge over those who sleep. Tend Your sick ones, O Lord Christ. Rest Your weary ones. Bless Your dying ones. Soothe Your suffering ones-"

 _Are there any happy ones? _Gisèle wondered somewhat drily as she knelt besides her bed in her nightgown, head dutifully bowed.

"Pity Your afflicted ones..." The Reverend Mother murmured on. "Shield Your joyous ones-"

 _Oh -there they are._

"And all for Your love's sake. Amen."

"Amen," muttered the twenty-some girls back piously, crossing themselves -even Léa and Rachelle and the one other Jewish girl there, to keep up appearances...which was strange since everyone knew who they were- before standing up and folding back their bed covers.

"Goodnight girls," The Reverend Mother told them gently.

"Goodnight Mother."

"Now all of you, bed!" Sister Mary Bernard snipped like an angry little dog. "Lights out!"

"Yes Sister."

With that the door close, and suddenly the girls were alone.

"Old hag," Léa whispered. "- _vieille sorcière._ _"_

"Anna!" Rachelle scolded her twin from across the room.

"What? You _know_ it true Marie."

"Yes, but you shouldn't say it," chestnut haired Emilie advised. "The woman had ears on the back of her head."

Gisèle giggled and she flopped over in bed. "That's the truth."

Léa grinned, and in the dark, her brown eyes sparkle. "See, Gisèle agrees with me."

"Look everyone, just go to sleep," a girl called Agnès muttered as she borrowed into the covers. " _D'accord?_ Goodnight."

"Goodnight..." the room muttered back.

* * *

(oXo)

"Girls! _Girls! Wake up!"_ Sister Bernadette shouted as she flew into the dormitory, like an arrow released from a bow. " _Wake up_!" the gentle sister positively _squealed_ , as she when around turning on their lamps, shacking their shoulders.

"Humm- What -What?" they all muttered back, fists balling sleep from their eyes. "Sister what -what's going on?"

" _Oh girls,"_ Sister Bernadette breathed out in a gush, her hand pressed to her chest and -to their horror- tears gleaming behind her kind blue eyes. "Please get up quickly, quickly...their are _soldiers_ here."

 _Soldiers!_

That one word sent a lightening bolt threw the room, and out of the corner of her eye, Gisèle saw Rachelle's face drain of blood. Without an another word, they were all up, and struggling to dress.

"S-sister," Rachelle managed to ask as she pulled on her sweater and green coat. "Where should we hide?"

Sister Bernadette blinked at her, looking baffled. " _Hide?"_

Léa stared at her, open mouthed. "Yes, _hide,"_ she said slowly. "Like we've been doing for more than _two years?_ "

"The other girls may not have to, but _we_ certainly must, Sister," the Jewish girl called Sylvie/Estée agreed franticly.

Eyes widening with realization, Sister Bernadette now clasped her hand to her mouth. "Oh girls forgive me! I didn't mean to frighten you! It is not German soldiers here...it is the _Américains_."

And just like that, all movement stopped. And time stood still.

"A-A- _Américains?"_ someone gasped out, voice every girls' stunned disbelief. "The _Américains_ are here."

Sister Bernadette nodded gleefully. " _Oui, Oui,"_ she said happily. "Yes, the _Américains..._ they have won _victorie_ girls. The battle is won."

And now they were all squealing, and hugging. They all jumped for joy -and some of them weep with it too; heads buried in their hands. But not Gisèle; she and Léa and Agnès were in the middle of a whooping war dance.

They had won, they had won, they had _won_. The _Américains_ had won, and they could all go _home_. And Renée would have her letters.

"Girls, girls," Sister Bernadette hushed them down. "I know you are all excited, but you must come with me. Quickly now."

They all blinked at that, confused. Then their eyes widen.

"Sister Bernadette, you want us to _meet_ them?" Rachelle gasped. "Is that wise-"

"Who care's if it's wise?" Léa grinned, her joy making her bold. Tossing her dark head, she smiled wickedly at her twin. "I'll go and meet them. And I'll kiss everyone of them ' _Merci'."_

That caused all of them to burst into hysterically giggles. But being their warden, Sister Bernadette nipped that plan in the bud.

"No, no, Marie," she told Rachelle gently. And turned to Léa she said a little more firmly. "And _no_ , Anna. We don't need you girls to meet them...We need you to sing for them. Sister Marie-Madeleine is waiting for you."

And for the first time since she had come through the door, Sister Bernadette's joy visible drained from her face, and took the rest of their happiness with it as it went.

"They are...in a bad way girls," the Sister explained softy. "The battle was...devastating for them."

The girls said nothing, and merely looked at her with wide eyes...they were just teenage girls -some of them barely so. They knew _absolutely_ _nothing_ about battles or their aftermath and...and thanks to these men, they would never have to know.

Léa stepped forward, and spoke for them all. "What must we do?"

* * *

(oXo)

 _"Plaisir d'amour...ne dure qu'un moment. Chagrin d'amour dure toute la vie...Tu m'as quitté pour la belle Sylvie..._ _Elle te quitte pour un autre amant..."_

...Considering that it was their apparent job to cheer these troop up, Gisèle had to wonder why Sister Marie-Madeleine was having them sing a song about heartbreak of all things -about love gone bad. It wasn't what _she_ would have chosen, that's for sure...not if she had haunted eyes like the men before them.

-But then again, none of the _Américains_ likely understood French, and the song had a sweet, peaceful melody to it; dispute the subject matter. So perhaps it wasn't so bad. The soldiers in the pews seem to be enjoying it, and Gisèle supposed that was the important thing.

 _"Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un moment..."_ They sung out gently _. "_ _Chagrin d'amour dure toute la vie..."_

 _The pleasure of love last only for a moment. The grief of love last a life time._

...That line twisted her stomach. Somehow, in some way, Gisèle had the terrible feeling that every man here reflected that last line. _The grief of love last a life time_...it sounded so pretty...

Poets had often wrote about such things -singers often sung about it.

But these men...they _embodied_ it. And there was nothing pretty about it. Nothing romantic. Their eyes were a verity of shapes and colors, but all of them reflected a pain, a _grief_ , that none of them here had ever seen before. A grief for fallen friends, the absent of lost _frères d'armes_.

All the girls had been shocked -terribly so- at the state the soldiers had been in. Sister Bernadette hadn't exaggerated when she had said they were in a bad way (if anything she'd _understated_ it.) They hadn't looked like a victorious army. They hadn't danced or cheered, or even really noticed them at all -just their singing. Barely. Most of them keep their heads down -lost in their own thoughts, or praying perhaps. _All_ of them were quiet. In all honesty, they all more or lest resembled _les morts ambulants._ The walking dead _._

It made Gisèle wonder what the _losing_ army looked liked.

 _"Tant que cette...eau coulera doucement...vers ce ruisseau qui borde la prairie..."_

Deep down, Gisèle wondered if this was really helping them. They all look so beyond their help.

 _"L'eau coule encore...Elle a changé pourtant..."_

She hoped it was, really she did...even if it just a little. Even if it was just for one.

 _"Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un moment..._ _Chagrin d'amour dure toute la vie..."_

And then the girls of _Couvent_ _de la Mère Sainte Vierge_ were done.

* * *

(oXo)

As they made their way down the choir steps and threw the pews in single-filed, the men blinked, and seem to realized for the first time that they were living breathing girls, and not part of the church décor.

"Beautiful, Sweethearts. Beautiful," a funny looking man with an animated face told them, clapping grandly with a full on grin.

"That was somthin' little ladies," a well built fair-haired man told them with a polite nod.

"You girls got to get yourselves ta Hollywood," a lanky man with a long face and brown hair commented with a wry grin. He was good looking, but it was the _Étoile de David_ that he was twirling absently mindedly around his fingers that made Léa and Rachelle whole up the line to stare at him a bit (and cry a little, in the latter's case. It had been a while since they'd seen a fellow Jew outside their group; the rest having been deported from Belgium years ago -to the East, the Germans said. None of them had ever come back.)

... _Anyhow_ , those were only a few of the compliments they received -not that they could understand a word being said to them, but still. It was nice. And what was nicer was the few that thanked them without spoken words, their appreciation shinning through their eyes, and barely-there smiles.

Like that one man over there, with the jet black hair, and blue-black eyes. The one who had a red cross on his arm. He said nothing, but his face reflected his enjoyment as he smiled kindly when they passed, and in his hands, he twirled something as well, like the Jew.

Only it wasn't a _Étoile de David_ or a _croix._ No...what he had was made of cloth...a Catholic _Scapulaire_ perhaps? Curious now, Gisèle stood on her toes to see better...she caught a glimpse of blue...and felt her blood freeze in her veins.

She came to a dead stop, and immediately brought all the girls behind her to a stop by default, each one crashing into the others ahead of her. " _Gisèle!"_ Agnès hissed in a furious whisper out. "What are you _doing?!"_

"Oh Gisèle, now not the time to be silly," Emilie implored. "Keep going."

"Well, well Doc," the animated man drawled out. "Looks like you got yourself an admirer."

"No need to be jealous Luz."

"Ah shut it Marlark."

The rest of the men chuckled a little, light-heartedly. "Oh my God," Agnès muttered under her breath, her ears burning.

"Girls, what is going on?" Sister Marie-Madeleine asked, frowning as she came up to them. "Why have you stopped?"

" _We_ haven't stopped Sister. Gisèle has!"

"Way to throw her off the cliff Agnès," Emilie murmured.

Sister Marie-Madeleine frowned again as she turned to face the culprit. "Gisèle? Do you care to explain-"

But the she was cut of by the girl stepping forward, out of line, towards the man. "Well look at her go!" one of the other solider laughed. "Kid's got guts."

"Brave little thing," his comrade agreed.

"Watch it Doc, I'll bet she's comin' to give you a kiss."

More laughter. But Gisèle was deaf to it all. All she heard was the blood pounding in her ears, mingled with Renée's last words to her.

" _Adieu_ _Gisèle, jusqu'à nous rencontrons à nouveau!"_

 _Promise me your wear you handkerchief_ _Renée! Please always wear your handkerchief!_

" _Je vais!..."_

Renée's handkerchief...this solider had Renée's sky blue handkerchief -part of it anyways. It was fithly and tore...a-aand Renée had promised her that she'd wear it. That she'd always wear it, so why did this solider have it-

"Where did you get this?" she asked in a quiet voice, so quiet that when it was clear that the man hadn't heard her, she said it again -louder, and also pointing. _"Où avez-vous cela...Where did you get that?!"_

And all of a sudden, the laughter died away. " _Gisèle!"_ Sister Marie-Madeleine gasped, reach for her, "What's gotten into you?"

But she had already moved beyond the nun's grip. She stood directly in front of the man, who eyes had gone wide by this point. He spoke French, Gisèle could tell. He understood her. Reaching out, she laid her hand on the handkerchief, and spoke again in a hollow voice.

"This was my sister's. Her name is Renée. This is her handkerchief...why do you have it? _Pourquoi l'avez-vous? Why do you have it?_ "

Sister Marie-Madeleine was circling around the pews now to get to her. Sister Mary Bernard too, looking as mad as thunder. The man was staring at her, into her slivery-blue eyes that everyone said she shared with Renée. His mouth said nothing. But his eyes said it all. Renée was dead.

Her sister was dead.

And then the ground was rushing up to meet her.

 _..._ _Chagrin d'amour dure toute la vie..._

 _The grief of love lasts a life time._

* * *

 _Reviews make me happy so tell me what you thought, and I'll update sooner._

 _Okay, so in real life, the Nurse Renee had a little sister called_ _Gisèle who was sent away from Bastogne before the battle. And I got to thinking, What if she was one of the girls who sung for easy company? and she saw Eugene Roe holding what left of her sister's handkerchief? Do you want one more chapter, make this a two shot?_

 _Was everyone in character._


	2. Doc Roe

Lara: A breath of fresh air you say? I'm honored!

Rainboweating: Here is that second chapter!

LiebgottNurse: Thank you, I'm glad you like it!

Guest: Thanks for the review!

ashbandicoot: Thank you for saying you love my writing style.

nlgirl17: I hope you like this next chapter just as much!

Afreakbynature: I'm glad to liked my intro! Thank you for calling it brilliant.

* * *

(oXo)

chapter 2

As her legs collapsed from under her, Gisèle's head struck the lower half of the pew with a resounding _crack;_ as though the world wanted to add insult to devastating injury. As though it wished to make _clear_ just how _insignificant_ her sister's death was, in the grand scheme of things. Renée Lemaire was just one out of thousands. One out of millions. A hundered million. Maybe more.

Temporarily rendered senseless by the blow, blackness danced tauntingly before her eyes, and stars imploded in her ears. Her body was numb, totally numb, as if she were a corpse buried under nine feet of snow. She couldn't move. And she didn't want to move. The little girl was oblivious to the panicked shrieking of her friends, and the equally alarmed outcry of the _Américains_ (though she _was_ vaguely aware of the tremors that vibrated though the floor as they sprang to their feet -that physically could anyways).

But she didn't care. She didn't care about any of it. And while Gisèle wasn't entirely sure which way was up, and which way was down at that point, one thing remained absolutely clear -no way would led to Renée. Not anymore. Or ever again.

Her sister was dead... _dead_. _Le mort._ And in that moment, Gisèle wished that she was _le mort_ too.

" _Mon Dieu!"_

"Gisèle?!"

"G-Gisèle please, are you alright? _Pouvez nous entendre?!"_ "

"Girls, stand _back!"_

* * *

(oXo)

In the seconds before the little girl collapsed, Eugene Roe of Easy Company had recognized what was about to happen moments before it did. How could he not, when he'd seen it more times than he could count at this point in the war? He had seen her eyes fill with horrified realization, when his unspoken answer to her pained question reached her; before empyting into the shocked apathy that was a soldier's worst nightmare. The kinda shock that meant your mind could take no more. The kinda shock that had pushed Sergeant Compton to his breaking point, when he'd seen Toye and Guarnere mangled on the ground, their legs seperated from their bodies.

He had lunged forward just as she began to drop -Renée's handkerchief falling to the ground- managing to grasp hold of her railway thin arms -just _after_ she cracked her head on the pew.

 _Quick thinkin' there_ _Roe_ , he chided himself sternly for brief moment, before pushing such thoughts aside to concentrate on lowering the kid to the floor, one hand keeping hold of her arm -and _God_ it was like holding a toothpick, all bone and no flesh -didn't these girls have any food 'round here?- and the other moving to cradled her head.

As soon as she was on the floor, he did a quick check up of her, probing her limbs for breaks. His fingers instinctive move to check the bump that was already beginning to swell beneath her hair, but they found no gooey warmth that meant blood. So that was good. As he worked, he tuned out the background noise with a well practiced ear -eh, compared to the noise he normally had to work under -the pounding noise of guns and artillery and _death_ \- the sound of the fellas' raising Cain was nothin' more than a mosquito's bite on the bayou, in comparison.

"What the-!?"

"Doc! What the hell did she _say_ to you?!"

"Jesus-"

"-Christ! Is she _okay?"_

 _"Soldat? S'il vous plaît est Gisèle bien?"_ That last one came from one of the nuns, her wrinkled blue eyes burning with concern behind her spectacles, one hand pressed to her cheek and the other griping the rosary that hung on her belt; meanwhile another of the Sisters quickly led the remaining girls away -some of them crying desperately.

Finishing his examine, Eugene sat up, and leaned his weight back on his hunches. He gave the Sister a short nod, and a shorter reply.

" _Oui, elle_ _sera_ _être fine._ " _Yes, she will be fine._

The Sister's face melted into instant relief, her hand that was on her cheek moving to press against her heart, while the other crossed herself in graditude. Then she hesitated, and after a moment said in passible English -"Sir...I'm afraid I must ask...what did Gisèle say to you?"

"That's what I'd want to know," Sergeant Lipton said grimly, arms folded across his chest. Besides him, Spiers lit a cigarette, and smoked it calmly, fixing Eugene with a look that told the medic that one way or another, this story would be coming out. It wasn't a threat, just a fact. Eugene felt his mouth go dry. In his mind he heard the kid's voice, heard her question repeat itself, over and over again.

 _This was my sister's. Her name is Renée. This is her handkerchief. Why do you have it? Why do you have it?!_

Suddenly the gravity of the situation hit him like the motor shell that disintegrated Muck and Penkala. _Oh God._ Throat tight, he glared back down at the girl -still dazed, but not unconscious. Pain and heartbreak shone through her eyes. The same eyes that had given him sympathy, from a nurse to medic, even as they worked tirelessly with her hands to give others life...and failing that, comfort.

And offer him chocolate.

 _Chocolat, pour vous._

Those eyes that refused to shy away from gore, even when despair crept around their edges, as more and more wounded arrived every day.

 _I never want to treat another wounded man again. I rather work in a butcher shop._

And it wasn't just the eyes. The nose, the chin -asides from the hair, which was more red than it was blond, the girl was almost a smaller version of Renée. One who was very much alive...but looking like she rather not be.

 _...I'm so sorry..._

Taking a deep breath, Roe ran his fingers through his inky hair before twisting 'round behind him. He snatched that dammed handkerchief off the floor, balling it in his fist. Then leaning down, he scooped up Renée's kid sister -Gisèle- with disturbing ease, rising to his feet.

"Yes sir," he replied with a calm he didn't have, making his way out of the pew; the men making sure to get out of the way. Motioning with his head for his sergeants and the Sister to follow him, Eugene began to head the same way the girls had. What happen in Bastogne, and the friendship he had formed there...it was personal. Private in a way that he'd tried not to think about in the couple of days, since the makeshift hospital exploded.

So if he had to speak of it, it would only be to the people who absolute had to know. And no one else. He'd never been one for gobbledygook, even on small matters. Never mind something like _this._

* * *

(oXo)

"-and that's all there was to it, Sir," Eugene said quietly at the end of his tale, leaning against the wall of the convent's makeshift dormitory, where he'd left Gisèle Lemaire listless on her bed in the care of the Reverend Mother.

His arms were crossed in front of his chest, almost defensively, as the ghosts of that night came to life before his eyes. He saw himself in the jeep riding to what he thought would be the relative safety of Bastogne, only to find out that nothing was true safe when artillery was flying overhead. No even a church filled with the wounded and the dying.

He saw himself shielding his face from the flash and the heat, before rushing forward despite the very real danger of the entire building collapsing, unable to make himself believe that he had watched his fellow medic die. At least, not until he found the sky blue handkerchief Renée had been so proud of.

"We was...we was so short on supply, I took it for a bandage," he fibbed slightly with his eyes closed, not wanted to admit that he had almost held back from using on a fellow solider. "Tore it in two and wrapped half 'round Babe's hand...I was holding the other half in the pew...and I suppose she recognized it."

Looking up, Eugene half-heartedly met the war-weary gazes of both his Sergeants, and Sister Bernadette. Lipton sighed deeply, and rubbed his eyes hard with his fingertips, apparently at a lost for words. Spiers had his eyes closed, and tilted his head back slightly, like he was absorbing the information the way he did with everything else about combat. Eugene had expected that, expected both reactions. It was the Sister who surprised him.

Sister Bernadette stood as still as stone, her face expressionless. Slowly, she reached into her pocket and withdrew from it a small book with a bright red clasp on the front. With a sort of failing hope, she opened it on one of the last pages. Running her eyes down it's length, that small hope sputtered and died like a paratrooper whos' chute failed to open.

"... _Mon_ Dieu," she whispered softly. "...It is her sister. Listen here; '" _They remind me of you...I miss you Renée, so you better be taking good care of yourself along with your soldiers -so you can come and get me of course._ _I would never forgive you otherwise, and Maman and Papa would never get over it - if you leave me here that is. Otherwise they would only have Marguerite at home...and you wouldn't be so cruel as that would you?"'_

The Sister's voice cracked on the last sentence, and was forced to pause for a moment to gather herself. Swallowing hard, she regained control of herself with admirable quickness.

 _'"Y-Yours,_ _Gisèle_ _P.S. I hope your still wearing that blue handkerchief I gave you for your jour de naissance Renée, It looks simply smashing on you, just like any Hollywood star..._ oh the poor child..."

Eugene cleared his throat. "That...that her diary, Ma'am?"

Sister Bernadette nodded miserably, "Yes...I had promised not to read it...but under the circumstances..."

Breathing deeply, the nun closed the book with an audible snap that was to alike to like gunfire for their collative taste, making them all flinch. Recovering, Sister Bernadette stepped forward an rested a hand on Eugene's still-crossed arm.

" _Je vous remercie soldat,"_ she thanked him softly. "Thank you for telling us these things. Now we will know how to help her."

With that said the Sister stepped back, and from the look on her face, Eugene Roe could tell that the interview was over, and that he could rejoin Easy Company.

But he didn't move. Straightening up, he fumbled for words. "Are you sure, I mean...is there nothing I can-"

But Sister Bernadette was already shaking her head. "No _soldat_ ," the sister rejected him gently. "You have seen to her physical wounds, now there is only there is only the spiritual. And for such wounds the only healing is time and God...do not worry for her _soldat_ , we are very well equipped to treat her."

Here her eyes became gazed with sadness. "...Gisèle is far from the first girl under our care that to lose someone she loves...though by God's grace and your work, she may be one of the last."

Lipton came over to Eugene's side, and rested a quietly commanding hand on the medic's shoulder. "Come on Doc," he told him in a tone that wasn't deprived of compassion. "...There's nothing more we can do." And Spiers backed the First Sergeant's order with an agreeing nod.

Roe breathed in deeply, and held out the remainder of Renée's handkerchief to the Sister. "Then give 'er this," he told the surprised looking nun. "She has more right to it I do."

Lips spreading into tight smile, Sister Bernadette started to take it...when a small voice from inside the dormitory caused them all to freeze.

 _"Est-ce soldat là-bas?"_

Is that solider out there?

 _"Gisèle, mon enfant_ _hush_ -"

" _Non, je veux_ _lui parler_ _._ _Je veux_ _lui parler_. _"_

No, I want to speak to him. I want to speak to him.

* * *

(oXo)

Eugene swallow reflectively as the girl's request reached him, and for the first time, he realized just how _stupid_ it was to be having this conversation just outside the dorm. And judging from the looks on the others faces, they'd realized it too. The kid had probably heard every goddamn word relating to her sister's death. Every word.

 _Idiots._ _We're all a pack a idiots._

 _"S'il vous plaît je peux lui parler."_

Please can I speak to him.

" _Gisèle hush..."_

Taking a deep breath, Roe let it out slowly before turning to face both his Sergeants, and the Sister. The nun looked stricken. "You do not have to speak to her _Soldat_."

"I-I know Ma'am," he assured her. Then turning his gaze to Lipton, in silent request he added. "But the fact is, I think I have too...Sir."

Lipton was silent for several moments. Then he said in exhaled, "Alright. But keep it short. I want you to get some sleep tonight."

Eugene nodded his gratitude, his fist tightening around the handkerchief. "Thank you sir. I wouldn't be long."

* * *

(oXo)

Despite his words, Roe felt himself hesitating after he walked though the door, and had those big sliver-blue eyes staring at him again, peering into his soul. Maybe...maybe this wasn't such a good idea. What the hell could he say to her? A part of him wanted to head clean out the door, and pretend it hadn't happen-

" _Soldat?"_ The Reverend Mother asked as she turned in her chair, suddenly taking note of the medic's presence. "Have you come to speak with Gisèle?"

Eugene didn't think, didn't let himself think. He just nodded. "Yes, Mother. If that's alright with you."

There was a pause...and the room was so quiet, Eugene could hear the blood pounding in his ears. The Reverend Mother's eyes swept over him slowly, before landing the little piece of cloth that had caused all this. Then she nodded, and rose to her feet. "Indeed it is...I will be right outside the door. Knock when you are done."

And before he could get a word it, the nun had moved across the room with a quickness that belied her age, closing the door behind her.

No retreat now...and he'd be a poor excuse for a medic if he did.

Gathering his courage, he made his way over to the bedside, and sat down gingerly in the seat the Reverend Mother had just vacated. Throughout the entire time, the girl hadn't torn her bloodshot eyes away from him, watching his every move from the moment he'd come into the room. Her pale face appeared skull-like against her pillows. She was propped up in her cot, a blanket thrown over her, with a glass of water residing next to her on a table stand. She didn't say a word.

" _Bonjour,_ " he tried. Nothing. Eugene held her gaze -Renée's gaze- for about a half-a-second before he had to look away, glaring down at his hands.

 _Pull yourself together Gene, for God's shakes you've seen worse things than a little girl's eyes._

And Lord knew that was true. Roe had seen men with their limbs blow off; seen 'em torn in two from shrapnel. He had seen blood spray from punctured arteries like a garden hose. He'd felt it run threw his fingers, warm and pulsing, while he tried to hold it inside the body where it belonged. He had seen just 'bout every form of violent death know to man, and possible some new ones.

But Lord, he never saw a dead girl's eyes shinning with life inside another's person face before. That was a first. And it unnerved him. Death was usually the end. The end of where he stopped working on that person so he could scrambled off, and try to save another. He'd never tried to heal what couldn't be seen before -that was more Father Maloney's job. More Renée's job. Both had a gift -a _touch_ \- that he simply did not. A touch that could comfort, as much as heal. A gift from God.

 _It's not a gift. God would never give such a painful thing._

Eugene closed his eyes again. He couldn't chicken out now. Not when the kid was expecting answers... _deserved_ answers. He breathed out. _Lord grant that I shall never seek so much to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand, or to be loved...as to love, with all my heart. ..with all my heart._

"...I think this belongs to you," he finally told the kid -Gisèle- in a quiet voice, holding out the handkerchief to her. And to his relief, life flashed in her eyes and across her face as she stretched out her hands to take it. He watched as she twisted it around her fingers, biting her lip hard to keep from crying again, but couldn't stop a few from leaking down already her wet cheeks as she examined each and every inch of it.

After a moment, she met Roe's gaze. " _Avez-vous la connaissez?"_

 _Did you know her?_

Eugene nodded once, quickly. _"Oui je la connaissais."_

 _Yes I knew her._

Silence...Then...

" _Avez-vous_ _...savez-vous ce que l'a tuée?"_

 _Do you know what killed her?_

Roe swallowed. Hard. he clenched his hands to stop them from shacking. He didn't want to scare her. " _Oui, ce fut un mortier."_

 _Yes it was a mortar._

 _"Oh."_

 _Oh._

Gisèle held the handkerchief tighter now. " _Est-ce que ça...fait mal?"_

 _Did it hurt?_

Eugene tired not to winced. _Probably._

 _"Eh, a_ _ucun enfant, il_ _a été très rapide_." _No kid, It was very quick._ At least, Roe sure hoped it was. Renée deserved that much. His throat tighten. He should have gotten to her...he'd been so close -he'd been right there. He should have gotten there, and pulled her out. Then none of this would be happening.

 _"Oh."_

 _Oh._

* * *

(oXo)

But something wasn't adding up. If this man was just a regular medic, why had he taken her sister's handkerchief? There was something this _soldat_ wasn't telling her...and the girl thought she had an idea of what it was. Turning a little red, Gisèle cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortable. She had trouble meeting his gaze. " _Alors, pourquoi avez-vous eu son mouchoir ... vous étiez ... petit ami de Renée?"_

 _So why did you have her handkerchief...were you Renee's...boyfriend?_

As soon as she asked the question she regretted it. The _soldat'_ s eyes widen to comical lengths, and a blush immediately rushed up the length of his neck beneath his lapels. And Gisèle was so, _so_ glad that none of the Sisters were in the room with them. Especially Mary Bernard. Battered head or not, she'd would've be doing _Je vous salue Marie_ and _Notre-Père_ until the arrival of the Second Coming, had the old hag been there.

More importantly she wished she hadn't embarrassed this kind _Américain._

" _Je suis désolé, monsieur,"_ she began to apologized profoundly, struggling to sit up, and ignoring how the action increased the pounding inside her head. " _Je ne voulais pas-"_ _I am sorry sir, I didn't mean to-_

 _"Eh, eh, jeter en arrière vers le bas, allez vous blesser,"_ the _soldat_ quickly interrupted her, getting up slightly to push her back against her pillows, concern plainly showing in his dark gaze. _Eh, eh, lay back down, you'll hurt yourself._ Again, not one of her brighter ideas. Her head felt like it was cracking.

The _soldat_ then reached over to her table stand, and took hold of that cup of water that the Mother Superior had left for her. " _Buvez_ _de cette,"_ he told her. _Drink some of this._

And she tried. She really did. With the _soldat_ helping her to hold the cup, she tipped it back and took a few gulps...only for her body immediately reject it. Bile soon filled into her mouth with more on the way, demanding release. Panicked, Gisèle let out a muffled squeal as she tried to hold it back, but it was _coming-_

But then there was a hand on the nape of her neck, like a Maman cat griping her kitten. It pulled her head away from her cot, and another hand grabbed the top drawer of her dresser, yanking it open so she could empty the contents of her stomach in there. Which she did.

...It didn't last long, and was mostly fluid. After all, there simply wasn't a lot of the contents in her stomach. And there never had been, for as long as she could remember. She couldn't remember what a full stomach felt like.

When she was done, the _soldat_ let her go.

 _"Merci_ ," she managed to mumbled as she laid back down and wiped her mouth, feeling that the word didn't even begin to cover it. " _Et désolé pour avant._ _Il était stupide_ _question_ _"_ _Thank you...and sorry for before._ There, that was closer. _It was a stupid question._

No, it was _beyond_ stupid...Renée would never have had a romance in the middle of her work, when there were lives that needed to be saved. To even suggest it was an insult to her sister's character. Had she the energy, Gisèle would have snorted. It was very fortunate that the Nazis didn't hate foolish little girls like they hated the Jews. Otherwise it would have been she would have been driven away sometime in the night, just like they were.

The man - _Roe_ , it said on his uniform- offered her a small sort of smile that probably would've had Léa and Emilie jealous, had they were there to see it. " _Il n'a pas été stupide...votre sœur était une très bonne infirmière et elle m'a appris beaucoup. Voilà pourquoi je gardais son mouchoir_ _je pense.._."

 _It wasn't stupid...your sister was a very good nurse and she taught me much. That is why I kept her handkerchief I think.._

Gisèle blinked at that, cocking her head so that her right braid was longer than her left, brow furrowed as the girl tried to understand Roe's meaning. " _Qu'est-ce qu'elle vous enseigne?"_

 _What did she teach you_?

Roe didn't answer her right away, looking as if he didn't know now how to put what he wanted to say into words. He sighed deeply, and his hand over his face, then through his hair. Gisèle waited.

Finally, Roe looked up _. "Elle m'a appris à être un meilleur médecin à mes amis."_ _She taught me to be a better medic to my friends._

Gisèle was flabbergasted. _"Mais vous êtes un très bon médecin!"_ she exclaimed in spirited protest. "But you are a very good medic! Look at how you helped me!"

 _Soldat_ Roe offered another grin. "Thank you...but you see, Renée...your sister...I watch her do more than just put people back together physically," As he spoke, Roe's eyes grew distant, and his smile faded. "She ...she did it emotionally as well. She could comfort people -comfort 'em in a way I couldn't."

That had Gisèle sitting back - at least metaphorically. She studied the quiet man before her, and for the first time, tried to imagine him out on a battlefield, doing the job his red-cross armband determined was his. She could picture him running towards a down man, disregarding his own safety. She could picture him putting a man back together under heavy fire, hands steady. But in all honesty...she couldn't picture him cradling a patient like Renée would, wiping their foreheads and holding their hands. Roe was a good man. That much she could tell...but he wasn't very _open_. Even sitting here talking to her, he seemed a little...awkward.

As though he didn't remember what it was like, to just talk to another person, with nobody in danger of dying. As though he were protecting himself.

There had been certain days where Renée would come home from her work, and refused to hug her parents or her sisters. Refused to have any contact with the living world, because she'd become all to aware of how fragile it was. And that was in a hospital...what would it be like in a war, with your home more than a million miles away? Where the men who were with you today, were gone tomorrow?

...It would be painfully lonely for anybody. But for a medic, it would be nearly unbearable. After all, unless they themselves were hit -or a friend- most soldiers, she imagine, would try not to look at the gore. They could look away. Try to forget. A medic could not, and it was under his gaze that many of the men would pass away. Suddenly, Roe admiration for her sister started to make more sense to the girl.

"Was Renée your friend?" she asked quietly, as an idea began to take form inside her mind.

Roe when very still before nodding. "Yes, she was my friend...the first I've had in a long time."

Gisèle bite her lip. Well with that, her mind was made up.

"Then in that case...I think you should have this back."

Taking a deep breath, Gisèle wiped her eyes and smoothed her hair to try and make herself more presentable. And she held out Renée's handkerchief to him, still sky blue, even after all it had been through.

* * *

Reviews make me happy so tell me what you thought and I'll update sooner.

Okay, how's that for a second chapter? Was Doc in charater. I tried so hard to capture him just right. And what did you think of his interactions with everyone, especially Gisèle? As for Gisèle thinking Roe and her sister were a couple, that's just her being a thirteen year old girl...but I like to think she's shown some development in this chapter, by knowing Doc Eugene Roe. I hope you noticed how the dialoged changed, as she opened up to him more.

P.S. Gisèle has a concussion, which is why she threw up. But they didn't fully understand them back in 1945.

there will be one more chapter.


	3. A Patch of Blue

LadyEnterprise - ThePatriette: Wow, thank you, I'm so glad that someone from Doc Roe's home state likes this story. Hope to hear from you again.

Cayendoenelolvido: I'm glad you think I captured Eugene's personality. Thanks for complementing my writing.

Afreakbynature: Crying, you say? Wow, I'm happy this moved you.

ZukiShi :refreshing... I'm gad you think so! That's what I was going for.

Lara: Well, here's that update!

nlgirl17: Thanking you, I was trying to capture the seriousness.

* * *

(oXo)

chapter 3:

Gisèle had to admit she took some pleasure in seeing how much her gift seemed to have stunned _Soldat_ Roe; who for a while, had look as if he had seen all the world had to offer him. At least in the bad sense that is. For a brief moment, the young _Américain_ gaped at her extended hand, open mouthed and disbelieving.

But he quickly gathered himself -in the way medics were always required to be able too -be it on the battlefield or off it. He set his gaze, and tried to pushed her hand, and the handkerchief, back to her.

"Sweetheart I can't except that," he told her, his voice soft, but firm in its refusal. "Its yours."

"I know that," Gisèle countered, unwilling to give up. A strange feeling of peacefully strength seemed to fill her, rising up from the centuries old stone around them. A strength that not only made the bleeding pain in her heart hurt a little less, but change it into a good pain, if their was such a thing. A healing pain.

It was a well know fact that sometimes to heal, to become stronger, one had to sometimes endure hurt. Like how heat could bring imperfections to the surface, so they could be shaved away.

"That's why I want you to have it -its not so great a lost _Monsieur_ ," she assured him when Roe looked doubtful, his brow furrowing. _"_ I gave it as a gift in the first place...its only right that I give it as a _cadeau_ once again. And to a person who is just as deserving."

She offered it again, this time taking the extra step of putting directly into the medic's hands, a cheerful splash of hopeful blue against the grime and dirt (at least, she _hoped_ it was only dirt...) that still stained them.

"I...I hope you'll hear this many, many times," she told him gently, wringing her own hands shyly after they returned to her lap; and suddenly she was utterly aware of how _faible_ they were -as white and paper-thin as _flocons de neige._ Renée's hands had been strong, in the same way that Roe's hands were strong...both physically speaking, to be able to hold back blood while wrapping a bandage...and metaphorically, to even have the neve to do it.

In some small way, she wanted to honor that -honor the both of them. "But I wish to be the first to say it. Thank you for what you done for us _Soldat._ You _Américains_ are Bastogne's _sauveteurs._ You are _heroes."_

Roe swallowed at that, his _pomme d'Adam_ moving up while his eyes looked down at the little cloth with an unreadable expression, twisting it in his slender fingers. Then he raised his eyes to met her own again -dark and silver blue.

"This was your sister's-" he started up again. But Gisèle only smiled, albit a little sadly. It still hurt -just because a wounded had been bandage didn't mean the pain had lessened. Perhaps it would always hurt...for the rest of her life...but now Gisèle was determined that it would be a healing pain.

"And I have a lifetime of things to remember her by at home," Gisèle answered. _If my house hasn't been blown up that is..._ she added silently, remembering the reports of artillery falling on Bastonge. But she kept that to herself as it wouldn't help her case. Instead, she offered him her biggest smile. "Please _Monsieur_ Roe, it is yours."

* * *

(oXo)

Eugene didn't know what to say. And even if he did, he wasn't sure he'd have the slightest clue how to say it. How to word it. How do you tell someone that in half a second without trying, she had suddenly embodied everything this damn war was being fought for?

"...Thank you," he finally said, when he got his mouth to movin'. Suddenly, he wished Luz or Randleman were here. Either one of them would have been better at this than him...but just as he thought that, inspiration hit. "But I like to give you something back," he added as he began to fish 'round his pocket, his lips twitching in a smile as he pictured her face when he showed the kid her treat.

At once, the little girl began gallantly shaking her head. " _Non, non_ _Monsieur,_ I do not need..."

But her voice died away with a little gasp as the thin bar of chocolate came out -one of the few Renée had given him in the short time he'd known the older girl. Immediately her eyes when as round as a harvest moon over the bayou -the light on the water showin' in her gaze. "Ohhh..."

Eugene offered a small smile as he handed it to her. " _Chocolat, pour vous."_

The kid held the chocolate almost reservedly in her grasp, small, bird like fingers running over it's sides as if the candy was a priceless relic, or a bar of gold. She held it up to her noise to sniff it...but then lowered it quickly to look at him for permission...or a blessing.

"Are you sure?"

Eugene nodded, and gave her a go-ahead motion with one hand, while the other tucked the handkerchief into his pocket -a uneven trade off, but a happy one, he supposed. "Absolutely."

The kid looked at him for one more moment...before she beamed. Eagerly, she began to peel the wrapping from the bar -and Eugene felt a bittersweet pain in his chest when he realized that she did it was the same motion and technique her sister had, tearing at the top, that he'd seen Renée do on the first day he'd meet the Nurse.

The only difference was that Renée had done it somberly, almost melancholy-like...as if somewhere inside of her, she was aware with every bite that she could be taking her last communion.

But the kid...she was almost giddy, like for now...the war was on pause, the worst was over, and things were alright now. Whether that was true or not, Eugene didn't know...but...he'd like to thing that the day was soon coming where he'd never have to treat a wounded man again, never see him bleed out from shrapnel or bullets, with his blood slicking his hands.

That sooner or later, Easy Company would be at last be free to leave the Butcher's shop behind. Eugene closed his eyes for a moment. From his thoughts to God's ears -Amen.

When the candy was fully unwrap, Gisèle beamed at him with joy that was both childlike...and far too old for her years.

" _Merci_ ," she told him. " _Pour tout_."

* * *

(oXo)

He left soon after that...wasn't much more to say, after all. He nodded politely to the Reverend Mother as she opened the door for him, and tried not to squirm at the sheer gratitude in her gaze. Roe felt unworthy of it. All he had tried to do was be decent to a colleague's and fellow sufferer's little sister...one of the many who he'd failed to help, at that. Nearly anyone would have done the same. How could he _not_ do it?

And...he was glad he did. For some reason, that bittersweet pain of having survived Bastogne when so many others fellas hadn't...didn't hurt so badly, now. Oh, the pain was still there, a dull and constant ach that had formed on D-day plus...but now it was tempered by somin' softer... somin' that felt a lot like hope.

Hope that so many men hadn't given their lives for nothin'.

Roe exhaled slowly in the in dimly hallway, his footstep a little to loud to be entirely comfortable to his ears -he was still so use to have snow crush under his boots.

When he return to Easy, he made sure that he gave Lipton a gratefully nod -God knew he was the man who really deserved it- which the First Sargent duly acknowledge with one of his own...seeming happy to have a reason to look away from his task of making a register of how many men they still had.

The boys were spread out among the pews sleeping...or at least pretending to with their eyes wide open, burning holes into the ornate ceiling -Eugene could tell who was who.

After a moment's deliberation, he made his way over Babe was spewed out, undignified snores escaping his mouth, while the hand that had the other half of Renée's handkerchief tied around it resting besides his head.

With a sigh, Roe eased himself down besides his fellow soldier, sitting up right so he wouldn't take much space. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, ready to block out the world.

"...Hey," Babe's voice suddenly asked. "Doc?"

Or not.

Cracking one eye, Doc rub his face before turning his attention to his bunkmate.

"Your hand botherin' ya Babe?" he asked him seriously.

The south-philly redhead blew out a huff of air at the notation, wave say hand sharply through the air to dismiss it. "Na, just..." Here Babe seemed to pause some, licking his lips before he spoke. "That kid...she gonna be alright?"

Roe blinked, a little taken aback at how gravely the question was asked. But he nodded quickly all the same.

"Eh, yeah," he said, nodding confidently as the reality of that fact set in. "Yeah...she's gonna be just fine."

Babe's expression eased at that, and he wasted no time in setting in again. "Good..."

* * *

(oXo)

 _Couvent de la Mère Sainte Vierge - Janvier_ _neuvième_ _, 1945_

 _Chère_ _Renée..._

 _You know, for the longest time, I wasn't sure whether or not I wanted to keep addressing these entries to you. It might seem silly to some, since you are never going to read them...but in reality, nothing has changed, has it sister? You told me to write you a letter for every day I was away from you...and now that separation is merely longer...though some would say that it is now forever. But I don't believe that._

 _One day, I will tell you all that has happen after the war...how we lived, laughed, and died. So I'll keep writing, because I don't want to forget anything._

 _Your friend médecin Roe was a wonderful man. I'm so happy you got to know him. His chocolate was wonderful...and I think he'll remember you for the rest of his life. The_ _Américains all left the next day...and not one of them complained as they moved out again -with barely a proper rest (if you can even call it that)._

 _...Oh_ doux Jésus, _I hope this war ends soon, for their shake, if nothing else...how much longer can it take for the Nazis to understand that finish?! Do we have to be like the Greeks of old, burning Troy to the ground before it gets through their thick skulks?! Their finished! Kaput! Does artillery have to fall on Berlin and their so_ very _precocious monkey-_ Führer's _head_ _for them to understand this? (And I'm sorry to say, this thought doesn't trouble me much...lets see how_ they _like it for a change). But people are still dying...I don't understand it. I don't understand anything anymore. Maybe I never did._

 _But I want to understand_ _Renée. I want to understand what took your life. What is still taking these soldiers' lives._

 _I want to go home...Maman and Papa and_ _Marguerite must be grieving -surely they know...but it's not safe yet, the sisters say._

 _But don't worry Renée...I'm far from grieving alone. The girls have been so tender to me these last few days...when they first came in for the night, Rachelle came over to my side and said nothing. She only hugged me...so very, very tightly...as if to say she was my sister now if I like. And basically, everyone seem to say this in so many words...Léa tells me jokes if she thinks I look too sad, and_ _Agnès makes my bed for me if I forget (I didn't use to.) I have shared my chocolate with them. They were all so happy to have a sweet...it has been so long._

 _Oh what will we all do, once this war is indeed over...how do you pick of the threads of an old life from before the war, as though nothing happened? How do you go on...when so much of your heart is left behind? (I don't know who will have it worse...the people who have to stay...or the men who will have to take their memories home with them.) Can you do such a thing? To do so, I think, is to forget...to forget is to let it happen again, and then be surprised like a dummy when it does. This certain can not be. There is no going back. Only a remembrance._

 _I feel like all the good people are a patch of blue in the sky...like your handkerchief_ _Renée. Tore and tattered. And all around us are storm clouds, closing in._

 _So what do you do? How do you endure, or dare to hope? I can't answer this...one must decide for themselves._

 _...But despite everything, I think people are still really good at heart...or even if their not, even the smallest acts of kindest from those who_ are, _is more than enough to kept the majority of the storm clouds at bay, and make our blue patch a little stronger -far more effectively than guns and artillery ever could, reinforcing it even. That is why will we win, in the end. You have taught me this. My friends have taught me this. M_ _édecin Roe of Easy Company has taught me this. I will never forget._

 _Until next time._

 _Yours,_ _Gisèle_

* * *

 _Finis_

* * *

 _Well, it is done. How was it? I tried to strike a balance between_ _Gisèle's new maturity and her youth. Sorry it too a while...but I wanted to get it right. Now, I think I'll write more Band of Brother's fics...so I want opinions what you might want._

 _A) a one-shot serious on true tales of E company? (I have books on them that I can use for stories) Show what the series didn't_

 _B) A historical What if? story exploring a real life event at an Austrian castle battle, which logically E company could have been drawn into in real life, making their end-of-war not so peacefully._

 _Or C) ...A Forest Gump of E. Company story, exploring if the famous character had lived as a member of the ww2 generation in 101 airborne...and how those around him react to that. (It kindda funny, seeing how Tom Hanks produced Band of Brothers)._


End file.
